


Walk in the Sun

by busaikko



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Audio Format: MP3, Boot Worship, Butt Plugs, Community: sga_kinkmeme, Corsetry, Crossdressing, Dom/sub, M/M, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-31
Updated: 2010-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-12 23:59:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/busaikko/pseuds/busaikko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SGA Kinkmeme prompt: "They only do D/s when John dresses up like a woman. 1 million bonus points if you work boot/high heel worship into it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk in the Sun

When John wants to do a scene, he picks out the shoes that go with his mood and puts them at the foot of the bed. Usually, he likes the lace-up ankle boots because they're sexy, with their four-inch heels and the two straps that buckle around, one over his ankle and one around the arch. But he also has a pair of pumps in black patent leather with a heavy, wide cuff that buckles around the ankle. He has kind of a thing for laces and buckles.

Rodney can say no, or not tonight, or how about we do something different; no problem, no worries. Rodney doesn't say no, usually. After all, the whole thing started as one of his brilliant ideas, the seeds planted way back when he found the first pair of shoes John brought to Atlantis.

"You make your dates play dress-up?" Rodney had asked scornfully, holding up a shoe that he'd found while searching for a game cartridge. John had been in a slutty phase, so his shoes were cherry red and made out of cheap material that scuffed easily. They had disappeared after the Replicator take-over, and John never did find out where they went.

"No," John had said shortly. "That's mine. Just put it back, okay?"

Rodney had blinked at him, and then fished the other shoe out from under the bed and lined them up as a pair on the floor. Watching Rodney's hands on his shoes had, predictably, made John hard and embarrassed as fuck. " _You_ wear high heels," Rodney said, disbelief and annoyance in every syllable.

"They go real nice with my corset and prom gown," John had snapped, sarcastic, trying to get Rodney to shut up already. It wasn't really a prom gown; John figured he was too old for lace and ribbons. But his slutty dress had a Xanadu look that went really well with his habit of overusing eyeshadow, and worked okay with his cherry red pumps. His corset went with everything.

"Ha very ha," Rodney had said, sounding stung, and that had been that. John went back to his routine of dressing up every now and then to blow stress off (by himself, quietly, behind his locked door), and Rodney had his nice botanist girlfriend. John would have bet a lot of money that _she_ didn't have a corset.

A couple of weeks after Rodney and Katie broke up spectacularly, Rodney showed up on John's doorstep looking so sad and lost that John went into _help a buddy out_ mode. He was thrown for a loop when instead of wanting to mope over videos and junk food, Rodney asked if John still had those shoes.

John had said, "No" (fucking Replicators), and then added, for no reason he ever understood later, "My new ones are better."

Rodney had agreed about that. He liked leather, it turned out. Shoes, in particular. Leather shoes on John, which worked out pretty well for both of them.

Tonight, John puts his ankle boots out, shaves, and then flops on the bed with his new Wormhole: Universe graphic novel. It sucks, but the crappiness of the writing (not to mention the physics) keeps him from focussing on just how turned on he is, knowing his boots are there. Knowing Rodney will be coming over... pretty soon.

When Rodney shows up, he flicks his gaze between the boots and John, then nods and huffs and says _Okay_. John doesn't take it the way it sounds. Rodney's just changing gears, is all.

John grins and gets up. Rodney's stripping, tossing his clothes on John's sofa haphazard, which is just funny when the next thing he does is drop to sit tailor style on the exercise mat John's laid out and examine the boots, saying, "It's not like you wear them offworld, how do you manage to abuse the leather _this much_ just in your room? There are these things called boxes, they keep the dust off, maybe you could get one, and a new brain while you're at it. Your laces are starting to fray, by the way."

"Yep," John says, and takes off everything except his boxers. He sits down in front of his tiny but functional shaving mirror and opens his makeup case. Rodney gets the kit from under the bed and takes out a rag he cut from one of John's old t-shirts. He's painstakingly thorough, but John's pretty sure that his boots can't be that dirty. They'd looked good to him, anyway, but he uses the time while Rodney's working to do his eyes. He found out the hard way that he's allergic to mascara, but he makes do with dark eyeliner and dramatic eyeshadow. By the time he's done with his lipstick, he can smell the polish Rodney imports from a guy he knows back on Earth. It's all-natural; edible, even. ( _Most shoe polish is toxic_ , Rodney had said. _I can give you EPA website links._ )

John wets a washcloth and puts it on the desk next to the bottle of remover stuff, just in case there's an emergency. Then he takes of his boxers, leans back against the wall, and says, "You should be done by now."

The focus of the work has put Rodney in a good place, because he nods and tidies up quickly without saying anything. John hadn't been sure at first that he could pull off giving Rodney orders. Dressing up has always just been about feeling beautiful. Rodney had given John a hopeful look and said, "Beautiful and powerful?" That made John's breath catch in his throat, and yeah, he thought he could make that work.

Rodney goes very quiet when they do this, like he's thinking about something important, and that makes it easier for John to be the one talking.

"Go get my clothes," John says. He's starting to get in his own groove, because all he feels is a pleasant ache of anticipation. He's hard, his dick jerking just from watching Rodney's hands touching his clothes, choosing, bringing the dress over. And the corset, of course, which has to go on first. It's black and has hooks, laces, and boning. John loves the way it feels against his skin, and he loves having Rodney help him put it on. Rodney gets it tighter than John ever could himself. Rodney has been known to break laces, which is _hot_.  
John doesn't really need to bitch, but he does anyway, telling Rodney to pull harder, put his back into it. "You know I can take it," John says, but his voice has gone soft and careful, the way it does when he can't breathe deeply. Rodney pulls him in a bit more, to where it's almost uncomfortable, and ties the laces in the center of John's back. They hang down and brush over his ass; John kind of wishes he could see. Some day he's going to ask Rodney to bring over his full-length mirror.

John has three dresses. The one Rodney chose is made of layers of smoky grey stuff, thin enough that the corset shows through when Rodney lowers it over John's head and smoothes it down his sides. Even with the corset's help John doesn't have a chest to speak of, but the dress brings out his waist and his hips. It's made for someone shorter; on John, the hem is indecent. He loves the way the ends of the fabric just brush his thighs.

John tells Rodney to go get one of his plugs; he wants to be fucked later. Rodney gets the black one, probably because it's more color-coordinated than the red or the purple. Rodney pays attention to details; John loves that. He tells Rodney to bend him over, to push his skirt up over his ass, to lube the plug up and slide it in. John's tight, and Rodney has to twist it a little to get it in, but John hasn't told him to use his fingers to loosen John up, so Rodney doesn't. John has intimate knowledge of insubordination, so he knows what Rodney's attention to his orders costs. When the plug is in, after one final twist and then a tug to make sure it won't pop out again, John stands straight and gives Rodney a slow, dirty kiss, running his hands down Rodney's back from shoulders to ass, cupping his cheeks, pulling Rodney close. Rodney's half-hard, but he and John both know what's coming.

"You cleaned my boots?" John asks.

Rodney shivers like there's a sudden chill, nods, and says, "Yes." There's a hint of _duh_ in his tone, but no eyeroll.

"Bring them," John says, and walks past Rodney to go sit on the edge of the bed. The posture demanded by the corset means that sitting makes the plug shift and light up every nerve in John's ass like a pinball game. He breathes through the rush of need and want and urgency, resolute that he won't hyperventilate, glad that he comes from a long line of women who believed in denying their pleasure for the greater good.

He thinks Rodney doesn't even notice. He hopes so. He makes Rodney kneel and holds out one foot. Rodney picks up a boot and slides John's foot in, resting the sole on his naked thigh as he does up the laces. He starts at the bottom eyelets and goes slowly, keeping the laces perfectly even. When he reaches the top he ties a precise bow and then slides his fingers down lightly to buckle the ankle strap, and then the arch strap. It's tight and perfect -- sexy, in a Cinderella way. John leans forward to kiss Rodney again, and then wipes away the lipstick on Rodney's lower lip with his thumb. Rodney doesn't say anything, but his mouth opens as if he's chasing the touch.

Rodney's hard now. John slides his foot up a little, letting the heel trace a red line on Rodney's skin.  
"Next," John says, and gives Rodney his other foot. He has to put weight on the boot for balance because of the plug in his ass. When he shifts a little, his leather-covered toes nudge Rodney's stomach, and Rodney's hands nearly falter in their exact lacing.

When the second boot is laced and buckled, John lifts his foot up, raises his chin to look down at Rodney, sets his foot in the center of Rodney's chest, and shoves him sprawling backwards onto the exercise mat. He's sure Rodney expected that, but Rodney always underestimates how strong John is when he's wearing a dress. It's amusing to see Rodney off-balance, and he says John's name -- not so much indignant as surprised. It's not a safeword, so John ignores it, and tells Rodney to kneel up on the edge of the mat.

John stands carefully; heels take a bit of getting used to. He straightens his dress, even though it doesn't really hide his erection, and walks around the exercise mat. He loves walking in heels, the way his hips roll, like the surf coming in. Rodney watches him. When John's behind him, he stops, pauses just long enough for the absence of footsteps to register, and then runs the toe of one boot down from the small of Rodney's back, along the cleft of his ass and between his legs, to nudge his balls. Rodney makes an incredibly gratifying noise.

"I could touch you anywhere," John says, and steps on Rodney's toes, not hard, just a steady pressure. Rodney makes another strangled noise. "And you'd love it," John continues, sliding his foot over to Rodney's other foot and tapping it, like his mother had when she was impatient or frustrated. "You'd ask for more."

"Please?" Rodney says, voice sounding disused already, and John's cock twitches up. He walks around again, stops in front of Rodney, and slowly settles into a crouch.

"Ask nice again," John says. He waits for Rodney to get out another _Please_ before putting one hand down on the mat and sliding onto his hip. The movement feels female to him, the way he's stretching his body and showing off, the way he wants to be seen. "Touch me. Top down," he adds, because Rodney's a devious bastard.

Rodney pets his hair first, tentatively, and John leans into his palm. Rodney traces John's eyebrow, skims the eyeliner carefully, runs two fingers over John's mouth, and then leans in to kiss his way down John's neck to the shoulder strap of the dress. He uses both hands to cup John's chest, thumbs tucked under to rub John's nipples, and John arches within his constraints. Rodney sucks each nipple to hardness through the dress fabric, leaving obscenely translucent wet patches that hide nothing. He slides his hands down over the dress to John's hips and then pushes the hem up so he can trace the severe line of the corset where it forces John's waist narrow. John stretches and rolls slow and smooth onto his stomach, so that Rodney is touching his ass and not his dick. Rodney traces around the base of the plug, and then works his way down John's thighs.

John raises his feet, crossing them at the ankles in one of his pin-up poses, and props his head so he can look back and see Rodney's expression.

Rodney looks desperate, hands frozen still just behind John's knees, the boots so close to his face.

"Smell them," John says, and Rodney does, leaning a bit closer, opening his mouth. "You want to put your mouth all over them, don't you?" John asks. After a moment, Rodney says _Yes_ as if it ought to be obvious. "Tough," John tells him. "I want you to heel-fuck yourself good and slow. Don't come, and don't get come all over my soles."

John definitely needs a good mirror. Without the corset, he could probably crane around enough to watch, but a mirror would make everything easier. He can feel Rodney's hands on his ankles, uncrossing them and holding them together as he shuffles back on his knees. John can't _see_ , damn it, but he feels his feet being placed just so, and then the first slow push of Rodney's cock between the boot heels. John can't help groaning, ass coming up, muscles clenching around the plug, a jolt like electricity going through him because Rodney's fucking his _shoes_ and that's. . . so mind-blowingly hot John's afraid for a moment that he's going to come.

"You don't have to be quiet," John says, pressing his forehead hard against the mat and breathing through Rodney's slow pull back.

" _Look_ at you," Rodney grits out, grunting a little as he pushes in again, and John wonders how it feels to be gripped tightly by smooth waxed leather, to watch the slide of it, black and shining, against sensitive flesh. He wonders if the head of Rodney's cock rubs against the inside of the arch, if he's smearing precome on the strap encircling John's foot. "You're the -- God -- the most gorgeous sight."

When John's hips lift -- he can't seem to stop them -- his dick slides along the gauzy dress material. He wants to come from being fucked, but his body doesn't seem to care if it's his shoes or his ass that gets fucked. It's almost like the same thing. But Rodney's breathing is ragged and his thrusts are surer, like he's getting lost in the sensation, and John wants to be the one in control of how Rodney gets off.

"Yeah," John says, and squeezes his ankles together just a bit to get Rodney's attention. "That's enough." Rodney stops with a whine catching in his throat, and then a short huffed _fuck_ escaping. "Grab the lube and fuck me."

John rolls over and stretches, getting Rodney back in sight again. Rodney flushes during sex; the red has crept down over his shoulders like a sunburn, and he looks like he's focussed inward on some complex theory that might just change the world. His dick is dark and red as well, and juts out like he's been hard forever.

John opens his legs obligingly so Rodney can kneel between, planting his feet on the mat and lifting up so Rodney can work the plug out. John's body doesn't want to let go; the stretch as the widest part is pulled out makes him pant and sweat, it's so good.

Rodney doesn't leave him empty for long, which is good. As soon as the condom's on and slicked with lube, Rodney pushes in. John feels like a total _slut_ with his dress shoved up to his waist, and his knees held up to his chest, and his body not offering any resistance to penetration even though Rodney's dick is thicker than the plug.

"John," Rodney says through clenched teeth, and John gets it. He puts both his feet on Rodney's chest, pressing his nipples down with his toes, and then slides them up carefully. His heels are fucking dangerous, but Rodney's at the point where he probably doesn't care, so that means John has to. John rests his ankles on Rodney's shoulders, and Rodney fucks into him hard, pulling John's hips up, and it's what John's been wanting, to give himself up, to be taken.

The tongue of leather from the buckle on the inside of John's ankle is brushing against Rodney's cheek. John slides his foot forward, just a bit, minding the heel, so that the end of the buckle brushes over the corner of Rodney's mouth.

"Suck," John says, and Rodney turns blindly towards the pressure, sliding his lips down over the leather. John's whole body jerks up as he watches, like Rodney's got his mouth right on John's dick. His head jumbles with all the things Rodney must be feeling -- the smooth warmth of leather against his face, the taste and smell of the polish, the confining ladder of laces in front of him and the always-present threat of the heels -- and John knows he isn't going to last.

He's breathless, but he manages to get out, "Make me come now, and you can come after." He adds, "In my ass or on my shoes," and it's gratifying to hear Rodney groan at that, so far gone. He expects Rodney to start jacking him off, but Rodney pulls John a little higher up and twists his hips with each hard thrust, at the same time sliding his mouth up and down the leather tongue. John can see Rodney's own tongue when he pulls back, wet, circling, hungry. Rodney's clearly in the middle of a threesome, and John thinks it's so hot he'd want it to go on forever, if he wasn't so desperate. But then Rodney leans just that bit more forward, slides his hand under John's bunched-up dress, and presses down on the row of hooks at the front of the corset, and John's _there_.

John's orgasm goes on and on and _on_ , like freefall only with no end in sight, everything in him weightless, warmth coming over him like the perfect wave, making him shudder. His mental clarity starts bleeding in before his body is finished spasming; it's a weird sensation, and Rodney fucks him through to the end, which gets almost uncomfortable, but he's too blissed out to complain.

Rodney lowers John's legs to the mat and pulls out; John slides one foot carefully up, letting the heel catch a little just above Rodney's knee. Rodney's got rid of the condom and his hand is flying over his dick.

"You're amazing," John says, and sits up, sliding the boot between Rodney's legs, nudging up with his toes to catch Rodney's balls and rest them there on smooth black leather. "Come."

Rodney makes a furious-sounding roar as his dick spurts, and John bounces his toes against Rodney's balls lightly, feeling pretty fucking powerful and awed at the same time.

"Look at you," John says. "You fucking love it, you love the mess you made." He tries to get his voice normal, but he sounds soft and desperate to his own ears. "You going to clean that up?"

Rodney's red-faced and panting hard, but he pulls back, raises the boot to his face, and starts licking his come off.

"God, that's hot," John says, and reaches over to run the back of his knuckles over Rodney's cheek, where the leather had rubbed, earlier. "I wish I could wear these boots outside, so every time you saw me you'd remember. How they feel. How they _taste_."

Rodney is thorough; he always is. Finally, he swipes his tongue down around over John's toes to get the last bit of come, and then sits back and starts undoing the buckles and laces. When he's halfway done with the left foot, he takes a breath and looks up, giving John a faint quirk of his mouth. "I have this fantasy of you in the control chair, with your legs spread."

John grins and trails his fingers over Rodney's naked skin, wherever he can touch that isn't a ticklish no-go spot. "I'm guessing that's a fantasy with a little Star Trek miniskirt and white thigh high boots."

"Stop talking dirty," Rodney grumbles. "Tease." He pulls off both boots, carefully, and begins working the laces out.

"You started it." John leans forward and kisses Rodney, tasting come and beeswax and pine and leather. He takes his time, exploring Rodney's mouth, trying to linger and hoping that the kiss says the things he doesn't. When he pulls back, he tugs the dress over his head, definitely not using it to hide his face for a vulnerable moment. That leaves him naked, except for the corset. "Untie me, I have to do a handwash."

Rodney gestures for John to turn around so he can access the laces down his back. "Can I stay tonight?"

John's momentarily overtaken by the rush of pleasure from being able to breathe normally again. Rodney reaches around him to undo the hooks, and then the corset is gone and John's cold, suddenly. Rodney touches his skin, smoothing over John's chest, sliding his palms over John's not-there-anymore waist. John leans back into the touch, and Rodney bites his neck. John wishes Rodney could leave marks.

"Yeah, you can stay," John says. "No bruises."

Rodney snorts, bites a little harder, and then lets John go. "Please. Like there are hickey forensics and under black light everyone can read _Dr McKay was here_ on your skin." He scrubs a thumb over the spot. "Really, you could have gotten this anywhere."

"But I didn't," John says pointedly. Tomorrow's going to be a long, long day of wanting to touch and not touching.

"Here," Rodney says, and hands John the shoelaces to add to the wash, one damper than the other. "Is it my fault I have free-floating resentment issues because I have the hottest boyfriend in two galaxies and I'm not allowed to brag, not even a little?"

John's plenty aware that he's wearing nothing but smudged make-up and he's holding a come-stained dress and shoelaces. When he used to do this to get himself off, this was when a kind of weary loneliness used to kick in. Having Rodney here makes him feel safe, somehow, like everything's okay, like John's not that different even when he's not dressed up. Rodney's dragging out the shoe care kit again, managing to bitch about the mess even though _it's his own come and spit_ , so John gets up, twists a kink out of his back (he's going to be feeling sore for _days_ ), and goes to wash his dress.

A glance in his shaving mirror shows the bruise on his neck is coffee-colored and obvious. John grins to himself. He knows what it says on his skin. He should return the favor, later. Maybe he can even manage the words, now that he's getting used to saying what he wants.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Cyndi Lauper's "Girls Just Want to Have Fun". Please note that this is a 100% angst-free fic!
> 
> This has been remixed as [S Is for Shoes and Stockings](http://rinkafic.livejournal.com/362913.html) by Rinkafic.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [(podfic of) Walk in the Sun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/244262) by [anatsuno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatsuno/pseuds/anatsuno)




End file.
